


Moving Forward Without a Body

by allyndra



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although it seems rather out of character for them, sometimes Peter and Harriet interact without a dead body between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Forward Without a Body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delancey654](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delancey654/gifts).



“Did I ever tell you,” Harriet Vane asked one night while they were dining together, “that I was quite reminded of Beauty and the Beast when we first met?”

“Were you? Although you didn’t look your best while on trial, I should never have called you beastly.” Lord Peter Wimsey grinned at her wryly, his fork arrested halfway to his mouth.

Harriet waved a hand at his foolishness. “The way you asked me to marry you at every meeting. It was … disconcertingly like the way the Beast proposed nightly in the fairy story.”

Peter cocked his head and said, “Oh, I see. _I_ am cast as the Beast in your scenario. Well, I accept the role if it means that I may lavish you with roses and gifts. And you know, Beauty did grow to care for him in the end.”

Harriet glanced down at her plate. “I suppose in the end she did,” she said with very great casualness. 

Peter felt his heart leap up inside him at the encouragement. “So I shall carry on until the very end,” he said. “Will you marry me, Beauty?”

Harriet looked back up at him, her eyes warm and rueful. “No, Beast,” she said. “Although I suspect I brought that upon myself.”

***

Harriet liked Peter’s hands. She had from the first. Appreciation of his face had taken time, slowly seeping into her until one day she looked at his fair, overbred features and thought them truly handsome. But his hands she admired from the start. 

He had strong hands with long, clever fingers, and in the back of her mind and the dark of the night, Harriet thought about what hands like that might do. So it was perfectly understandable that Harriet might be the slightest bit distracted at the moment. 

“Personally, I’ve found knot looks secure, but isn’t the best for restraining someone,” Peter was saying, fingers manipulating a length of rope into a deceptively simple looking knot. “Too much bulk. But your kidnapper may not have the training to know that.” He glanced up at her, his hair fallen just slightly askew, his eyes bright even with the monocle shielding one of them, his fingers dexterously at work, and Harriet swallowed hard. 

“A wise kidnapper would research knots before attempting to bind his captive, don’t you think?” she said, her voice a trifle thicker than usual.

“Indeed,” Peter agreed. “But I challenge that most criminals are far less wise than they ought to be. Thank God for that.” He untied the knot with practiced motions and began a new one.

They were sitting in the park, on a little wooden bench that felt much smaller now than it had when they’d first perched on it. Harriet shook her head at her own fancifulness. 

“In real life I’ll wish for all criminals to be fools who leave you trails of clues to follow,” she said. “In my books, I want them to be exactly as cunning as the story requires.”

Peter smiled and held up his rope for her inspection. “This one looks far less impressive, but is much better suited to the office,” he said. “Should you ever wish to bind someone fast, I can recommend it.”

Harriet took a long quiet breath of the cool spring air and tried not to feel as though she were already slowly being bound.

***

Peter sometimes doubted in Divine Providence, but he rarely doubted in the devil. His faith was entirely justified by the fact that he spotted the Duke and Duchess of Denver just as Peter and Harriet stepped out of the symphony hall. 

"Harriet,” he said in a rapid undertone. “You mustn’t hold my relations against me.”

Her eyes flashed up at him, startled, but Peter had no time to explain more fully, as the objects of such an explanation were already upon them. 

“Peter,” Gerald said, his voice warm but restrained. “I say, we didn’t expect to see you here, did we Helen?”

“No,” Helen said. Her smile held the precise amount of politeness to make it clear that neither had she wished to see him. “It’s a lovely surprise.”

“Allow me to introduce you. Harriet, this is my brother, His Grace the Duke of Denver and his Duchess. Gerald, Helen, this is the lovely Miss Harriet Vane.” Peter found himself standing more upright than was his wont, his shoulders tight in an effort to keep from pulling Harriet behind him and away from any of Helen’s unnecessary judgment.

Helen’s smile went a shade colder and less polite. “It really is amazing whom one may encounter on a simple trip to the symphony,” she said. 

Harriet’s face was utterly unreadable, and Peter regretted it. He wished to know if she was amused, disgusted, hurt. She inclined her head graciously. “Indeed, Your Grace,” she said simply. “I find myself in rarefied company.” 

“Yes, well,” Gerald said awkwardly. “We, erm, we really must be going. I’ll try to pop ‘round for a sip and a sup before we leave the city,” he told Peter, his eyes flitting to Harriet and away. 

“Any time,” Peter agreed, practically to Gerard’s back as he and Helen veritably scampered away.

Peter let out a sigh and turned to Harriet, “Mother and Mary make up for them,” he promised.

“They would have to,” Harriet said. Her rich, low voice was rough. “People will forget, you said?”

Peter pursed his lips. “Gerald and Helen don’t count as people,” he said.

Harriet shook her head, but she took his arm when he offered it. “What shall we consider them, then, if not people?” she asked.

“This requires careful consideration,” Peter said. “Shrews seem far too easy.”

“Cliché,” she agreed. “Badgers? Guarding their set against encroaching outsiders?”

“Voles,” Peter countered. “Terribly small heads for their small minds.”

“Parrots? Decorative, but not useful, and given to repeating others rather than airing new thoughts.” Harriet offered.

Peter smiled. “What am I, then? What sort of creature?”

Harriet looked up at him with a calculating expression, and Peter felt a small thrill of worry run through him. “You,” she said slowly, her hand still tucked firmly into the crook of his arm. “You are like a hound. Loyal, good tracker, ready to raise your hackles and bare your teeth if you have to fight, but also ready to provide comfort and companionship.”

Peter flushed. “That is the nicest way I’ve ever been called a dog.”

“And look at you wagging your tail,” she said with a teasing smile. 

Peter hailed a taxi, feeling bright and hopeful, and completely willing to be teased.


End file.
